“Let’s go home,” my father whispered.
“Yes,” I said with a lump in my throat. “Let’s.”
EPILOGUE
There were no empty seats at our Thanksgiving dinner table. Lindsey, my sister, was home for the first time in two years. Grandma was with us, doing as well as could be expected. My mother was smiling again, finally exuding the fabled glow that kicked in around the fifth month of pregnancy. In less than two weeks Dad was already looking better and slowly gaining some needed weight. The mountain of mashed potatoes and dressing on his plate would surely help the cause.
“Do we have any sushi?” asked Lindsey.
“It’s Thanksgiving, dear,” my mother said reprovingly.
She rolled her eyes and put a sliver of turkey on her plate. I just smiled to myself. For all the family had been through, thankfully we hadn’t changed completely.
Naturally, some things would never be the same. My days at Cool Cash were over. That was just as well, since the Miami office surely wouldn’t survive the firestorm anyway. Before his murder, Jaime Ochoa had given a sealed letter to his mother with instructions to hand it over to the state’s attorney if anything untoward should happen to him. It spelled out the entire scheme. Maggie Johans was named prominently in the cover-up, and she’d spent the last two weeks trying to save her own criminal skin by insisting that she’d acted on the advice of Duncan Fitz. From what I’d read in the newspapers, it wouldn’t be long before they both came crashing down, taking a huge chunk of the firm’s pristine reputation with them.
The saddest part of Jaime’s letter was what he’d written about Alex, detailing the way she’d linked his stolen information about the insurance policy to the kidnappers who capitalized on it. I imagined she’d regretted it from the beginning, which was why she’d stayed on to help negotiate Joaquin down even after the insurance company had fired her and denied my father’s claim. A bigger part of me, however, felt only anger, betrayal-and increasing confusion over that speech she’d delivered before dying. I wondered if she’d really believed that serving up an American would buy her own family a lifetime of safety from Joaquin and his band of killers. Or had she made the whole thing up, one last deception? The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that even if her motive hadn’t been greed, perhaps she and Jaime both had gotten what they’d deserved. My sense that justice had been done only intensified when I learned that a certain Japanese couple, Nisho and her husband, were also K amp;R policyholders with Quality Insurance Company. Fortunately, the scam was uncovered before any other names were sold to kidnappers. From what my father had told me, I was certain that when Nisho was finally released, it would take a lot more than a million and a half dollars to settle her claims against Quality Insurance.
As for my own legal woes, Jaime’s letter was a godsend. His own written words had taken me off the list of murder suspects, as did the forensic evidence. Before its throat was slit, Jaime’s dog had clawed the skin of the real murderer, and the DNA test of the scrapings from under the nails didn’t match me. They matched Alex. That, plus the sworn affidavit of the Colombian priest who had overheard Alex’s confession, pretty much guaranteed that my next role would be not as a defendant in a murder trial but as a grand jury witness in the imminent criminal prosecution against Quality Insurance Company and the lawyers who’d orchestrated the cover-up. It was one more thing to be thankful for on this holiday.
“Everything’s delicious, honey,” my father said.
“Best ever,” I added.
My father smiled at me as he reached for another slice of my mother’s famous cornbread. “Nick, I was thinking about taking the Bertram out tomorrow. Sailfish are running. It’s catch and release, pure sport.”
“Who’s going?”
“Just me, so far. I was hoping you might want to come along.”
It might have been a small thing in other families, but with our past this was huge. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Good. Set your alarm for four-fifteen.”
I coughed on my ice water. Lindsey snickered and said, “Be careful what you wish for.”
The phone rang, and my mother dropped the gravy ladle. The kidnapping was over, but some of the reflexes remained. The ringing continued, two, three times. With my mother’s reaction, no one moved. It was strangely cathartic, allowing the phone to beckon until it stopped, no compelling need to answer it.
Dad broke the silence. “This seems like a good opportunity to settle some family business. Your mother and I have been talking about what to do with the money.”
He meant the million and a half, of course. Though technically it was supposed to have been used for payment of his ransom, it was ours now, the proceeds of my lump-sum settlement with Quality Insurance. My father could do with it as he wished.
“After Nick gets back his out-of-pocket losses, I want to buy out Guillermo and take over the business myself. The way the company’s been losing money, it shouldn’t take much. I’m sure I can turn it around with him out of my hair.”
I nodded. Even though the drug allegations appeared to have been manufactured by Guillermo’s ex-wife, Dad was still better off without him. “You’d do well to distance yourself from him anyway,” I said.
“I want Grandma to get the best care available. And of course we’d like to set something aside for our three children-the two of you and your future little brother or sister,” he added, smiling as he laid his hand on my mother’s belly.
“Sounds good to me,” said Lindsey.
His expression turned more serious. “Beyond that, there are a couple people outside the family I want to take care of. Hector’s widow, for one. She lost a husband and a son in that shoot-out in Cartagena.”
“That’s the right thing to do,” I said.
“And there’s Jenna. She put a lot of time into this for no pay.”
“She definitely came through when no one else would,” I said.
“I thought fifty thousand would be fair.”
I totally agreed with him, but I was slightly uncomfortable with the concept, or at least the timing. “You think it’ll look like I’m trying to buy her back?”
“It might,” said Lindsey. “Especially now.”
“What do you mean?”
She seemed reluctant to speak up, not quite looking me in the eye. “I wasn’t going to say anything on the holiday, but my jogging route took me past Jenna’s place this morning. There’s a ‘Sold’ sign out on the front lawn.”
It hit me hard, though I tried not to show it, hoping to keep our Thanksgiving upbeat. The way I felt about Jenna, however, was no secret in our house.
Lindsey lowered her eyes, as did my mother.
“I’m sorry, Nick,” my father said.
“Me too,” I said as I poked at my cranberry sauce.
I went to see Jenna that night. Sure enough, dangling from the real estate agency’s sign in her front yard was another little sign that said sold.
Jenna had lain low since my father’s return, insisting that it was best for the family to heal on its own for a while. I’d felt as if there were things left unsaid. Seeing the “Sold” sign with my own eyes had only reinforced the feeling. I walked up the old Chicago brick walkway and knocked on the front door. Her car was in the driveway, so I knew she was home.
The door opened, and she smiled faintly. “Hi.”
I suddenly didn’t know what to say. “Wasn’t sure you’d be in town.”
“This year the family was doing Thanksgiving with my brother and his kids in Seattle. I made an excuse. Just didn’t feel like flying across the country.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and followed her into the living room. It seemed strange the way our relationship had changed, yet everything in this room had remained exactly the way I remembered it. Even the big cushy reading chair was in the same place, covering that ugly brown paint stain on the old Persian
rug we’d purchased at an antique store for next to nothing. The chair was a recliner, but it had been out of commission ever since that night I was studying for the bar exam, when Jenna had climbed in with me, tossed my outlines aside, and nearly set the thing on fire, figuratively speaking.
“Have a seat,” she said.
I started toward the memory chair, then thought better of it and took a seat on the couch.
“Want a soda? Beer?”
“No, thanks. I just wanted to talk.”
She took a seat on the ottoman, on the other side of the cocktail table. “How’s your job hunting coming?”
“I’ve narrowed it down to two medium-sized firms in the Gables. Both good groups of people. And they all seem to have a life outside the law firm. Imagine that, huh?”
“That would be a good move for you.”
I nodded. “I saw the ‘Sold’ sign out front.”
She blinked and said, “Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that.”
“The deal’s not even inked yet, and my agent put that out. She’s fed up with me. Said that if I kill the deal this time, she’s quitting.”
“Kill the deal?”
“This is actually the third full-price offer I’ve received this month. I’ve managed to wiggle out each time.”
“Sounds like you’re not really sure about this move,” I said, hopeful.
She looked away, then back. “I’m all over the map, literally. When I think about the low times, I feel like packing. Then I’ll find something while I’m going through my stuff. A piece of jewelry or one of those mushy cards you used to write me in your own words. I’m totally confused.”
My throat tightened. I had plenty to tell her, but I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Is that what you came here to tell me?”
“That, and a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“I–I didn’t prepare a speech. I was kind of hoping you’d get all Jerry Maguire on me and tell me I had you at hello.”
That got a smile, then a little laughter. We’d seen the movie a few years earlier on one of our first dates, and she’d clearly remembered it as well as I had. “Every now and then, you get me right in the funny bone, you know that?”
Her smile faded, and our eyes met. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That I always want to make you laugh. That I wish you’d give us a second chance. That if you insist on trying to sell this place, I’m going to put a full-page ad in the paper saying it’s haunted.”
“Funny. That’s exactly what I told the last buyer to get myself out of the deal.”
“What do you say we go out and talk about this over a couple of drinks?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Anything but a Dark ‘n’ Stormy.”
“Mojitos?”
“Now you’re talking.”
She grabbed her sweater, and we started for the door. “I know a new place over on South Beach. Best Mojito you ever had,” she said.
“Really?”
“I guarantee it.”
She locked the front door, and we walked toward my Jeep. “That wouldn’t be a lifetime guarantee, would it?” I asked.
She climbed into her seat, shooting me a playful look. “One step at a time, bozo.”
“Sure,” I said as I turned the ignition. “Sounds good to me. Really good.”
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A King's ransom Page 39
